


a place we call home

by schlicky



Series: coffee!au [3]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlicky/pseuds/schlicky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third and final installment of the Coffee!AU. Brad and Ray trying to make do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a place we call home

**Author's Note:**

> A very, very big thank you to all of the people who have had something nice to say about this series. It means more to me than I can possibly begin to say.

The field is little and shitty, but it’s mowed regularly, and it has a full-sized goal on one end. In all the time that Brad has been coming out here to practice, he has never seen anyone else on the field. Its only downside is the fact that there aren’t any lights to see by after the sun goes down. He has to pack it in once it gets dark.

His muscles are still protesting yesterday’s long workout. He does his best to ignore the ache. He gives the ball a nudge with the outside of his foot, pushing it out to the left. Then he takes a shot on goal.

The ball makes a satisfying whoosh sound as it brushes the side netting. Brad jogs over to dig the ball out of the back of the net and he kicks it back toward the middle of the field, out past the fading lines of the penalty box painted on the grass.

That’s when he sees Ray making his way down the small hill from the parking lot.

“Hey, you,” Brad calls as soon as Ray is close enough that he’s not yelling. He pauses. Shit, maybe he’s late. “What time is it?” he asks. Ray smiles at him.

“It’s only five,” Ray answers. So he hasn’t _totally_ lost track of time.

“Oh, good.” Brad puts his cleat on top of the ball, rolling it back and forth. “I thought you wanted to meet for dinner at the Mexican place at seven?”

“Yeah, we were going to,” Ray says. “But I need to talk to you.”

Brad’s stomach sinks to his feet when Ray says those words. He wants nothing more than to stop the conversation right where it is, just turn and get lost in practice again. Brad takes a breath and says, “Okay,” instead. He can’t help that he already sounds defensive.

Ray stares at him for a good thirty seconds, and Brad can see his chest move with a deeply drawn breath even if he doesn’t hear it. Then Ray holds his hand out.

There is a paper in Ray’s hand that Brad hadn’t noticed until now. Brad reaches out and takes the corner of it between his thumb and index finger, like maybe the paper is going to poison him or burst into flames the second he touches it.

Brad reads it quickly. He reads it again to be sure he read it right the first time. He lets his breath out in a relieved rush.

“Jesus Christ, Ray, this is _great_ news. You fucking gave me a goddamn heart attack.” Brad reaches out and pulls Ray to him, sliding his arms around Ray in a tight hug.

Ray has been waiting for this letter for months.

“Sorry.” The apology is muttered into Brad’s collarbone and then Ray wraps his arms around Brad’s waist. When he speaks again, the words are soft and Brad has to strain to hear them. “It’s Boston College, Brad. It’s not five minutes up the street.”

“So?” Brad slowly releases Ray and takes a step back to look at him properly. He’s still holding Ray’s grad school acceptance letter. “What are you trying to say?”

Ray runs a hand through his hair and sighs, looking away for a moment. “Just that it’s not going to be easy. We have no idea where you’re going to be after the draft--”

“If I’m even drafted,” Brad cuts in.

“You’ll get drafted, Brad. Don’t be a dumbass.” Ray gives him a look. “But you could end up _anywhere_.”

“Then we’ll fucking make do, Ray.” Brad stares back. “ _You’re_ being a dumbass if you think I’m going to let you walk away from this without even _trying_ ,” he says. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but it’s fucking worth it to me. I love you, you stupid little shit.”

Ray’s huffed laugh and answering, “I love you, too” are almost entirely muffled by Brad’s mouth on his.

“I knew you’d get in,” Brad says after the kiss has ended. “Do you want to go to dinner early to celebrate?” He hands the folded letter back to Ray, who sticks it into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Sure,” Ray answers. “But we’re not going anywhere until you take a fucking shower. You smell like four-day old ball sweat, dude.”

“What, you don’t like it?” Brad teases.

“If I wanted to be around that god-awful stench, I would have taken up studying in the locker room.”

Brad laughs at that and pops the ball up with his toe, catching it. He goes to retrieve his bag from its spot in the grass next to the goal. “I don’t think you’d get much studying done that way,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’d get some studying done, all right. It just wouldn’t be for the right subject.”

“I’ve got some anatomy you can study.”

“That was the worst fucking line I’ve ever heard, Colbert.” But Ray is laughing as they head back up the hill to the small dirt parking lot that runs parallel to the field. “Did you run up here again?”

Brad nods his head and stops next to Ray’s car to pull his cleats off and slip into the running shoes tucked in his bag. “Yeah. Probably would have walked home, though. I’m pretty tired.”

“No shit.” Ray climbs into the driver’s seat and sticks the keys in the ignition, starting up the engine. “You’ve been busting your ass the last few weeks with all of this practicing. I’m surprised you can even stand up straight. Every time you say you’re going to take a shower, I half expect you to drown.”

Brad sits in the passenger seat and smirks. “You know what the solution to that is, don’t you?” he asks. He twists around to shove his bag into the backseat.

“Well, yeah,” Ray says. “Obviously we’re going to have to go buy you some pool floaties.” He laughs when Brad socks him hard in the arm.

“You asshole.” Brad tugs his seat belt on and stretches his legs out. He can feel his muscles tightening back up already. “We can head back to my apartment so that I can take a shower and change, and then we’ll head to dinner. Since you don’t seem to want to join me, you can bond with Nate some more over your impending moves to Boston.”

He realizes belatedly that the comment sounds a tad bitter because Ray shoots him a look. Brad does his best to flash a wide, teasing grin.

Ray doesn’t look the least bit convinced, but he lets it go without comment.

##

Ray’s apartment is rapidly becoming bare. The more that gets packed away into boxes, the more Brad’s stomach starts to feel like it’s full of lead. He watches from his spot sitting cross-legged in the middle of Ray’s mattress as Ray goes about the room and finishes grabbing the last of his things. Ray tucks everything carefully into the boxes and then tapes them closed when they’re full.

“There’s not much left,” Ray says after he straightens back up and casts another look around the bedroom.

“Except your sheets.” Brad doesn’t want to look at the empty room anymore, so he picks at a loose thread in the linens.

“I’m probably better of taking those sheets outside and setting them on fire, Brad,” Ray tells him with a laugh.

“So throw them out.” Brad shrugs.

Ray gives Brad this look, one that says he knows exactly what Brad is thinking. He sets the roll of packaging tape he’s holding on top of the box at his feet. Ray crosses the short distance between them and sits on the edge of the bed next to Brad. His hand finds Brad’s knee, and there’s a small part of Brad that wants to pull away, that doesn’t want to hear all of the attempts at reassuring clichés.

Brad frowns down at the loose thread and doesn’t look at Ray.

But Ray doesn’t say anything. He just sits there with his thumb rubbing back and forth across Brad’s kneecap and stays completely quiet.

Eventually they’re both lying on their backs on the bed, shoulders pressed together, staring up at the ceiling. Brad curls his fingers around Ray’s when they brush against his palm.

“What time are you leaving?” Brad asks.

“Early.”

“I figured.” Brad turns onto his side and slides his arm across Ray’s ribs. He rests his chin on Ray’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “Feels like it came too fast.”

“I know.” Ray’s voice is quiet. He rubs his thumb over Brad’s knuckles. “The rest of it will go fast, too. The draft will be here before you know it, and you never know. You might end up in New England or New York. New York’s only a train ride away. It wouldn’t be that bad.”

Brad can’t help but smile and he makes a soft noise in his throat. “But you haven’t spent any time thinking about it, have you?” he teases, and Ray laughs and squeezes his hand.

“No, not at all. Totally didn’t look up the train schedules, either.”

The sheets are the last item to be packed up despite Ray’s joke about burning them. Brad tucks them into the top of a box in the morning and reluctantly hands it to Ray after everything else has been taken out of the apartment.

“You’re all set.”

“Sort of.” Ray steps into Brad’s personal space and slides his arms around Brad’s waist. He presses his face into Brad’s neck. “Wish you were coming with me.”

“I know, me too.” Brad drops a kiss onto Ray’s shoulder. “I’ll come see you soon,” he says and tries to smile reassuringly when Ray looks up at him.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

##

The next few weeks seem to come and go in the blink of an eye. Brad spends a few hours a day either on the field taking shots and running drills, or going for long runs through the trails around campus. If he exhausts himself enough, he doesn’t have to think about the fact that he misses Ray so much it actually aches.

They talk on the phone a lot, but it doesn’t come close to filling the void that seems to have opened up in his chest.

There’s a questionable stain on the fabric seat of the booth he’s sitting in, but Brad’s pretty positive he doesn’t want to know what it is. He traces the patterns in the wood tabletop with his thumbnail and chews on the inside of his cheek until Poke slides into the booth across from him.

“Hey, man,” Poke greets him and reaches for one of the laminated menus on the end of the table.

“Hey.” Brad offers a small, tight smile.

Neither of them says much of anything at all until after their waitress has come and gone, getting their drink and food orders.

“I can’t believe you moved home,” Poke breaks the silence and leans back in the booth.

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Brad asks. “Our lease was up and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. There wasn’t a point in signing another lease when I didn’t know if I would even be around.”

“Congratulations, by the way.” When Brad shrugs his shoulders in response, Poke sighs. “Bro, what the fuck is your problem?”

Brad looks up and narrowly misses getting hit in the eye with a sugar packet. “What do you mean, what the fuck is my problem?”

Poke gives him a look. “You got drafted into the MLS and you’re acting like you found a flaming bag of dog shit on your doorstep,” he says. “You should be fucking stoked.”

“I am.” Brad slides the sugar packet back across the surface of the table.

“Then why the fuck are you frowning like that?” Poke slaps his hand down on the artificial sweetener and stuffs it back into the holder with the rest of them.

Brad doesn’t answer right away.

“I got drafted by the Chicago Fire,” he says eventually.

“So buy yourself a goddamn snow coat, Iceman.” Poke waves a hand dismissively when Brad shoots him a look. “I know, I know. You wanted the Revolution because your boy’s in Boston,” he says. “Look at it this way, bro. Chicago is a hell of a lot closer than California.”

“I know it is.”

Poke shrugs. “And you could always get traded.”

“Yeah, I know,” answers Brad.

“You talk to him yet?” Poke asks.

“He knows because he sent me a text this morning, but we haven’t actually talked about it,” Brad replies. “Not that there’s anything to say. It doesn’t change anything. We still have to travel to see each other.”

“Yeah, but at least the flight is a hell of a lot shorter,” Poke says. “You get to spend more time together and less time traveling.”

“A few hours, maybe.” Brad picks his arms up off the table and leans back when their waitress stops by their table with their food. He squirts some ketchup on his plate for his fries and then slides the bottle over to Poke.

Poke catches it, shrugs his shoulders and says, “A few hours is better than a sharp stick in the eye.”

“You have a point.” Brad laughs when Poke rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt.

“That was lame, dawg. Even for you.”

Brad can feel some of the tension in his muscles slowly slipping away. He relaxes into the booth and fields questions from Poke about the impending move to the Windy City, questions about training camp and what he knows about the team while they both work on demolishing the food on their plates.

“So Nate and Ray don’t regret moving in together, do they? No one is dead yet?” Poke asks.

“Nah.” Brad shakes his head. “Ray said they have a lot of the same study habits, but it’s not like either of them is home all that much. Nate spends a lot of time at Harvard, and Ray is busy, too.”

“He’s still working and shit?”

“Yeah, he got called up to varsity.” Brad grins when Poke raises an eyebrow at him. “He works at a real Starbucks now instead of a wannabe coffee stand in the lobby of a library. But he’s always got something going on. Class, or work, or study groups, or some kind of paper.”

They talk for a while even after they’ve both finished eating and have paid their bills. Brad listens attentively while Poke talks about his plans now that they’re done with school and soccer isn’t taking up so much of his time.

Poke makes Brad promise to get together one more time before he leaves for Chicago.

It’s a promise Brad is more than happy to make.

##

Brad stretches out across the bed and sighs, content. He reaches for Ray’s pillow and swaps it for his own. He doesn’t plan on dozing off again, but he must because it’s almost two hours later when Ray climbs back into bed. Brad is mildly disappointed that Ray is still fully clothed.

“Hi.” Ray smiles at him.

“Hi,” Brad murmurs in return. He stretches again and feels Ray’s hand on his back, following the lines of his tattoo. “Where did you run off to this morning?” he asks after a moment.

“I had an appointment with the advising department and then I had to swing by work and check out the new schedule,” Ray answers. “I sort of figured you wouldn’t be up and moving before I got home.”

“You want to grab some breakfast?” Brad asks. He reaches out to rub his palm against Ray’s hip, sliding his hand up over Ray’s ribs next.

“Shit, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I ran into my friend Jake at Starbucks and ate a bagel while we were talking,” Ray explains.

Brad notices that Ray didn’t even bring him a coffee back. Ray seems to realize it, too.

“Nate made a pot of coffee before he went out. There’s some left,” Ray tells him. “It should still be warm.”

Brad nods his head and rolls away from Ray to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He picks his phone up off the nightstand to check the time. He can practically feel Ray’s gaze on his back. Brad scoops his soccer shorts up off the floor and tugs them on.

Ray watches him quietly the whole time, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“I’m going to grab some coffee and a quick shower,” Brad says, scratching absently at his shoulder. “It would be nice to get out and do something today.”

They’ve spent the two days he’s been here so far tucked inside the apartment. It’s his last full day in Boston, and he’d like to get out and see some of it before he has to fly back to Chicago tomorrow.

Ray sits up in bed, nodding his head. “Okay.”

Brad finds a note taped to the carafe of the coffee maker written in Nate’s neat handwriting that says _help yourself_. He does. He tears a banana off the bunch on the counter and peels it slowly, looking at the kitchen.

For the most part it’s neat and tidy. Or, it is until he gets to the kitchen table. It’s covered with books and papers and pens and pencils, and Brad wonders how either of them finds anything in that mess.

Some of it is Nate’s and some of it is Ray’s.

Brad pokes through the papers as he eats his banana. He doesn’t take his coffee near it. It looks like Nate is in the process of editing one of Ray’s papers for spelling and grammar.

It’s funny how he can tell where Ray was getting tired while writing it. It seems like those pages have a lot more red on them than they do black. There are a few whole paragraphs that Nate has bracketed in red and written “ _be more concise_ ” next to them in the margins. Brad smiles, unsurprised.

He finishes his banana and drains the last of his coffee before he heads for the shower. He’s rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when he hears the bathroom door creak open. Brad waits out the silence.

“What do you want to do today?” Ray asks eventually.

“I don’t know,” Brad answers. “Anything. It’s supposed to be a nice day. You can show me the campus or something, and we can grab some dinner while we’re out.” He shuts the water off and pushes the curtain open. He steps out of the tub, reaching for a towel. Brad doesn’t miss the way Ray watches the water roll down his stomach.

“I can’t promise that campus is going to be very exciting,” Ray says after a moment, dragging his gaze up to Brad’s face.

Brad shrugs his shoulders and dries himself off, draping the towel back over the towel bar to dry once he’s finished. “So?” he asks. He balls up his soccer shorts and heads back across the hall, naked, to Ray’s room. “I just want to do something with you that’s not sitting here watching you read for class, or watching you write a paper. I don’t care what it is.”

Ray follows after Brad and watches him get dressed. “Okay,” he says and smiles.

Brad smiles back.

They head to campus after Brad has finished dressing. It’s mostly empty because it’s a Saturday, but that also means they’re totally at their leisure. Ray shows him where all of his classes are when Brad asks, and shows him things like the union and the library.

There’s a bar on the way back to the apartment that Ray insists they stop at to grab a bite to eat and a drink or two. It’s the place they go to when they go out, he tells Brad.

A drink or two turns into more than that and they’re both drunk when they stumble back through the door. Nate is sitting on the couch reading and he raises an eyebrow at them, but he’s smiling some.

Brad greets Nate but he doesn’t complain in the least when Ray pushes him toward the bedroom. They fall into bed laughing, in a tangle of limbs.

Ray’s skin tastes like sun and sweat, and Brad thinks he doesn’t ever want to leave.

##

The story Brad is listening to is long-winded, full of names of people he doesn’t know and, despite Ray’s many assurances, is not all that funny. He supposes it would be hysterical if he’d actually been there to witness it.

But of course he wasn’t.

“Brad?” Ray’s voice has a tinge of concern. “Brad, are you still there?”

“Mm, yeah.” Brad shifts in bed and rolls onto his side, closing his eyes. “I’m still here.”

“Okay.” The line goes silent for a minute or two, and Brad just listens to Ray’s breathing. “Is everything okay, Brad?” Ray can’t see him do it, but Brad nods.

“Yeah, I’m just tired. I was up really early for practice.” It’s not a lie, though it’s not really the whole truth, either. But Brad doesn’t want to talk about how he feels left out, how he hates that Ray’s been so busy lately that this is the first time they’ve talked all week. He doesn’t want to talk about how it seems like dealing with the distance is easier for Ray than it is for him. “Just miss you,” he murmurs.

Ray makes a noise. “I miss you, too. Oh, hey, hang on a second, Brad.”

“No problem.” The words aren’t even entirely out of his mouth before he hears Ray start a muffled conversation with someone else, someone who’s actually standing in front of him. Brad can’t help but hate them a little bit. He can’t hear everything that’s said, but he catches words here and there - ‘bar’ and ‘everybody’ and ‘dollar beer night’.

Ray’s muffled, “That sounds great,” makes Brad’s stomach churn. There’s another brief exchange before Ray’s voice is in Brad’s ear again. “Brad?”

Brad chokes back a sigh. “Yeah?”

“Hi, sorry. What were you saying?” Ray sounds distracted.

“Nothing.” Brad swallows. “I should go. I’ve got to get up early again.”

That seems to have gotten Ray’s attention because he makes a disappointed noise and says, “Oh.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

It’s on the tail end of Ray’s, “Good night, Brad,” that Brad thumbs the end call button. He pushes his phone across the blankets, over to the empty right side of the mattress. The side Ray likes to sleep on when they share a bed. He ignores the phone when it lights up with a text message less than thirty seconds later that he knows must be from Ray.

Brad rolls over and closes his eyes.

Ray’s _I love you_ is still waiting for him when he wakes up in the morning.

##

Nate doesn’t look at all surprised to see him, and he takes the mug of coffee Brad hands him with a thank you. “Where’s Ray?” he asks as they sit down at the kitchen table.

“Some study thing until noon with that Jake guy,” Brad replies. “I’ll get to see him for three whole hours before he has to go to work.”

The smile Nate gives him is small, apologetic. “He misses you, you know.” He seems to realize that the only thing that’s going to come out of this conversation is a huge disaster because he changes the subject when Brad doesn’t reply. “You’ve been here a few times, but have you been out to see much?”

Brad shakes his head and sips at his coffee. It’s still too hot. It burns his tongue, but he keeps drinking it anyway.

“I don’t have anything planned for the day. We can walk around some, if you want,” Nate offers. “And I know where Jake lives, so we can plan to be in the neighborhood around noon so that you and Ray can grab some lunch afterward.”

Brad runs his finger around the rim of his mug. “Have you met Jake?” he asks. It’s a name he keeps hearing over and over again.

Nate adopts a wary look and sighs. “Yeah, I’ve met him. He’s been over a few times,” he says. “He seems like an okay guy.”

“How did they meet?” Brad asks.

“They’re in the same program,” Nate answers. He shakes his head. “No, I’m not giving you his social security number, so don’t ask. Just let it go, Brad.”

“Yeah.”

When Brad asks about it, Nate takes him to Harvard. They walk around campus some. There’s a pick-up game of soccer in the middle of Harvard Yard that Brad talks Nate into joining for half an hour.

Afterward they find a table outside a small cafe and grab a light breakfast. A piece of coffee cake to go with another cup of coffee. The weather is definitely starting to turn – it’s cool where they’re sitting, partially in the shade. Nate doesn’t say anything until he’s mostly finished with his coffee cake.

“So how are you doing, Brad?” he asks.

Brad glances up at Nate, who’s still watching him closely. Brad shrugs his shoulders in response. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Nate wraps both hands around his disposable cup and doesn’t look away. “Brad, I’ve known you way too long for you to be able to hide that shit from me.”

“I know.” It’s true. They’ve been friends since a summer soccer camp in junior high. “I thought it would suck pretty bad, but I didn’t think it would suck _this_ much.”

“The distance?” Nate nods when Brad does.

“It’s like I’m not part of his life anymore,” Brad says at length. “Yeah, I hear most of the stories, but that’s not the same as being there. I hate it.”

Nate is quiet for a moment or two before he shrugs his shoulders. “So why not just walk away?” he asks. “You’re obviously not happy with the way things are right now.”

Brad shoots Nate a look, though he knows exactly what Nate is doing. When it comes to Brad, Nate has always played the other side, made him really think about why he thinks or feels the way he does.

The mere _thought_ of telling Ray he can’t do this anymore almost makes him physically ill.

“Because even if the distance sucks balls, I’d rather have that than not have him at all,” Brad answers. He climbs to his feet when Nate makes a gesture for them to leave after consulting his watch.

“Then you find a way to make it work, Brad,” Nate tells him. “It’s not easy and it’s not always going to be a smooth road, but if it’s that important to the two of you, then you find a way.”

They end up standing outside on the sidewalk in front of an apartment building, waiting for Ray. Brad leans one shoulder against a light pole with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, coffee long-finished.

It’s a little after noon when Ray comes out of the building. He’s talking to someone – Jake, Brad assumes – and laughs at something he says.

Jake is tall, blond, and Brad hates him on principle alone.

He tries to smile when Ray notices him and Nate. He’s not sure if it works or not. Judging by Ray’s vaguely concerned look, he’s guessing not.

“Hey,” Brad greets him after Ray has said his goodbyes and come to stand on the sidewalk with them.

“Hi,” Ray says. “You didn’t have to come out here. I was heading home.” Brad opens his mouth to respond, but Nate beats him to it.

“It was my idea,” Nate says with a smile and a shrug. “I was showing him around Harvard this morning and it was on the way home. We’ve only been standing here a couple of minutes.”

More like fifteen, but Brad’s not going to say otherwise. Nate looks at his watch.

“I’ve got some shit I’ve gotta get done at the library, though, so I’ll see you at home,” he says.

They both bid Nate goodbye, and Brad watches him go for a minute before he turns his attention back to Ray. “Do you want to go grab some lunch before you have to go to work?” he asks.

“I’d rather go home,” Ray tells him. “We’ve got those leftovers from dinner last night, and I need to change. I don’t want to be rushed and end up late for work.”

“You won’t be late for work. We can go somewhere casual. We’ll be in and out,” Brad says, but doesn’t push much harder when Ray shakes his head again. He bites back a disappointed sigh and follows when Ray starts for home.

While they’re eating, Brad mostly talks about where he and Nate went that morning. He talks about the pick-up game and stopping at the café for a coffee. He makes a joke about how it was a pretty decent brew for an independent, hippie loving, communist shop. He smiles when it makes Ray laugh.

He’s rinsing off their plates in the sink while Ray throws the empty to-go boxes in the trash.

“So what did you and Jake do this morning?” he asks, and Ray lets out a huff of air.

“Jesus Christ, Brad.”

Brad shuts off the water and meets Ray’s gaze. “What? I was just--”

“No, you weren’t, and we both fucking know it, so don’t pretend otherwise,” Ray tells him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Brad tells him, can’t help that he starts to get defensive.

“Then why can’t you just get it through your thick head that there’s _nothing_ going on?” Ray asks. He throws the dishtowel he’s holding onto the surface of the counter and stalks off toward his bedroom. Brad follows.

“If there’s nothing going on, why are you getting so defensive about answering a goddamn question?” Brad asks and stops short in the doorway when Ray whirls around to glare at him.

“Are you fucking serious, Brad?” Ray sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “He’s a _friend_. That’s it. You know, it’s not fucking fair that I’m being punished because your ex-girlfriend was a cheating slut and didn’t know how to keep her legs closed!”

“I’m not punishing you.”

“Yes, you are. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it to you, and maybe you don’t mean to, but you _are_.” Ray stares at Brad, his neck turning a little red and splotchy with anger. “I shouldn’t have to put up with feeling like I’m undergoing some kind of inquisition every time I go somewhere with someone. Do you have any idea how fucking shitty it feels to know that even after over a year, your boyfriend doesn’t trust you?”

Brad loses some of his fight at those words. “It’s not that I don’t trust you--”

“If you say ‘but I don’t trust them,’ I’m going to punch you in the balls, Brad.” Ray shakes his head and they stand in silence for a minute. “I don’t need your permission or your stamp of approval to do anything with my friends, and if you think I would ever tolerate that you’re fucking retarded. You either trust me or you don’t, Brad. End of story.”

“It’s not that easy,” Brad says.

“Because you don’t want it to be!”

Brad shoots him a dirty look. “That’s not fair,” he says. “How the hell do you think it makes me feel when you’d rather go out at night drinking with friends than talk to me?”

“That’s not true and you fucking know it, so don’t throw that in my face,” Ray snaps at him. “But I’m also not going to sit around and do nothing when I actually _do_ have some free time because you may or may not text me or call me. You need to make some friends in Chicago. I know you’re not a socially retarded moron, so stop acting like you are. It’s not fucking flattering.”

There’s another long pause where neither of them says anything before Brad sighs and says quietly, “I’m sorry.” He runs a hand over his hair and then scrubs at his face. “Why does it seem like this is easier for you?”

“I promise it’s not.”

“I don’t – I don’t want this to get fucked up,” Brad says quietly.

“You think I do?” Ray asks, not unkindly. “I don’t want that, either, Brad.” They stare at each other for a couple of moments.

“What if I quit?”

“What? Brad, no.” Ray shakes his head. “You’re not going to quit soccer. You’ve been working for this for over half your life. You’re not going to stop now because of me.”

“Ray, I’m not going to be able to play soccer forever. What’s the difference if I stop playing today or five years from now?” Brad asks and moves closer to Ray, close enough that he can graze his fingers over the hem of Ray’s sweater. “I want _you_.”

“Brad--”

“I could suffer a career-ending injury during practice next week, or in a friendly the week after that. And then what?”

Ray sighs and looks away from Brad, looks at the totally disheveled bed, at the evidence that Ray hadn’t slept alone last night. He loves waking up with Brad next to him. “Brad, I don’t want to be the reason you give up on playing.”

“So instead I risk everything that we have so that I can go kick a fucking ball around for a few more years?” Brad asks. “Yeah, I got drafted, but I’m still on the reserves. There’s no guarantee that I’ll ever get called up. So how long do we do this? How long do we put ourselves through this for a dream that might never get fully realized?”

Ray still isn’t looking at Brad. He doesn’t look until Brad’s hands find his face. He sighs and closes his eyes. “I don’t know, Brad,” he says. He returns the kiss Brad presses to his mouth. “I don’t have any answers.”

“I know.” Brad presses another soft kiss to Ray’s lips and rests his forehead lightly against Ray’s. “Are you gonna come out to Chicago soon?” he asks. “You haven’t, yet.”

“I have to look at my schedule for school and for work,” Ray tells him. “See if I can work something out.”

The fact that Ray doesn’t give him a definite answer does not slip by unnoticed. It gives Brad this horrible feeling of disappointment in the pit of his stomach, but he’s not going to point it out right now. He’s tired of fighting. He doesn’t want to start fighting about that on top of everything else.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, this time. We could have gone out to dinner,” Ray says, the pad of his thumb rubbing against Brad’s knuckles.

“Not if you were planning to wear that fucking ugly sweater,” Brad teases Ray, his mouth curving up in a small smile. He’ll take the easy out since it was offered.

Ray laughs and pinches Brad’s ribs. “My mom bought me this sweater, you asshole.”

“Of course she did.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Ray asks.

“It’s the only plausible explanation for why you would feel obligated enough to wear it,” Brad tells him. He watches with interest when Ray’s fingers tangle in the hem of it, starting to pull up.

“Would you rather I take it off, then?” Ray asks him, and Brad smiles.

“Now that you mention it…” Brad catches the sweater when Ray tosses it at him, and he laughs softly. He throws it toward the hamper in the corner and doesn’t care that it ends up on the floor.

##

Brad glances at his watch as he listens to the phone ring. They won’t have time to talk for very long, but it’s at least something since he knows they’re both going to be busy for the next day or so and likely won’t be able to talk.

“Hi,” Ray answers.

“Hey, you.” Brad smiles. “I’ve got a late practice soon, so I can only talk for a few minutes.” Better to get that out now than to get caught up in talking and have to cut it short.

“No, that’s okay.” Ray sounds distracted.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Brad asks, glancing at his watch again. He’s pretty sure this was free time for Ray today.

“No, you didn’t. I just got home from class,” Ray answers. “Just walked in the door.” Brad can hear things being set down in the background.

“Are you excited to see your mom?” Brad asks. He had planned to go see Ray again the week after next, but didn’t buy the tickets. Ray had explained that his mom was going to be coming out from Missouri that same weekend. Brad hadn’t wanted to interfere with that.

Ray hasn’t seen his mom in _months_.

“She can’t come.” Ray sighs.

“Why not?” Brad asks. He hates that disappointed tone in Ray’s voice.

“The car broke down,” Ray tells him. “She has to use the money she set aside for the trip on fixing the car, and she can’t afford to come out here anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Ray.” Brad frowns. “I know you were looking forward to having her there.”

Ray sighs again. “No, it’s fine. I’m just disappointed.”

“I know you are.” Brad glances at his watch again. He might be a little bit late, but it’ll be worth it. He moves away from where he’s standing by the floor to ceiling window, back over toward the couch and the coffee table. “It’ll be okay, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. ‘This too shall pass’ and all that other bullshit.”

“I’ve got to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” Brad tells him. He’s already pulling his laptop back out from the bottom shelf of the coffee table. “If you’ve got some free time to call me later, I’ll be home.”

Ray makes a noise and says, “Okay. Love you.”

Brad smiles. “Love you, too.” He ends the call and scrolls through his contacts one more time before dialing again. He smiles at the enthusiastic greeting he gets. “So I have an idea,” he says. He’s already filling out the appropriate fields on the webpage.

The phone call he gets later that night is not unexpected. Brad smiles when he reads the screen and he puts his phone up to his ear. “Hey.”

“Brad,” Ray starts but then stops again.

“Hm?” Brad pushes the start button on the microwave and watches the frozen meal spin in circles.

“I just got off the phone with my mom,” Ray says. “I can’t fucking believe you did that.”

“Can’t fucking believe I did what?” Brad feigns ignorance.

“Brad…” The thick, sort of choked-up way Ray says his name makes Brad’s chest tighten.

“Ray, I know how much you were looking forward to having her out to visit,” Brad tells him gently. “I was going to use that money on a plane ticket to Boston, anyway, if your mom hadn’t already been going.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

Brad huffs a laugh. “You don’t have to pay me back, you idiot,” he says softly. “I love you, and I just want you to be happy. If flying your mom out to see you does that, then I’m happy to do it.”

“Thank you, Brad.”

“You are more than welcome.”

##

They haven’t been able to talk much the last two or three weeks. Brad is trying not to worry, but it’s a battle he is quickly losing. Nate refuses to talk to him where it concerns Ray. He knows Brad is just fishing for information.

Any time he _has_ managed to talk to Ray, the conversations have been short, and Ray has been increasingly distracted.

Brad takes a breath and tries to tell himself there is a perfectly plausible reason for it. Ray has class and work. Ray is busy. But even telling himself those things doesn’t do much to make him feel any better. It doesn’t help tamp down the panic.

He grabs his phone and types out a quick message to Ray. _Free the rest of the week. Want to come see you._

The response he gets takes a few minutes to arrive. _It’s not a good weekend for me._

Brad sighs and hits reply. _Can you talk?_

 _Not now._

 _Just for a minute._

 _I can’t, Brad._

Brad frowns and puts his phone back down. He continues to lie there in bed for another fifteen or twenty minutes before he makes up his mind. He grabs his bag off the floor of his closet and starts to pack.

##

Ray is less than thrilled to see him.

Brad tries not to let the hurt show when he leans in to kiss Ray and gets his cheek instead.

“What are you doing here?” Ray asks. He finally steps aside to let Brad into the apartment.

“I wanted to see you,” Brad answers. He follows Ray into the kitchen after Ray shuts the door, and Brad raises an eyebrow when he sees the table. It’s more of a disaster area than usual and that’s saying something.

“Brad, I don’t really have time to entertain you,” Ray says. He moves his mostly empty cup of coffee off the table, dumping it in the sink. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Brad frowns. “You don’t have to entertain me,” he says. “We don’t have to do anything. You can work on your paper or whatever it is you have to do. I just wanted to see you.”

Ray sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks tired. “Fine. That’s fine.” He glances at the clock. “I have to go to work.”

Brad nods his head. “Okay,” he answers. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Ray kisses him on the mouth this time, but he doesn’t linger.

The first day isn’t so bad. Even the second, Brad is able to keep himself mostly entertained. He borrows a book from Nate to read. He has his computer and his headphones, so he can plug himself in and listen to music at the table without bothering Ray.

By the third day, this sitting still and never leaving the apartment thing is starting to grate on his nerves. Ray has only left to go to work; otherwise he’s been glued to his books and his papers.

If he’s even showered, it happened while Brad was asleep.

Brad takes his headphones off and turns the volume of his music down so none of the sound is bleeding out. “Hey.”

Ray doesn’t answer him right away. He keeps reading a paragraph in the book to the side and then types at his computer for close to five minutes before he finally glances at Brad. “What?”

Brad gnaws the inside of his lip for a minute. “Want to take a break and grab some dinner?” he asks.

Ray shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Brad closes his computer. “Taking an hour to recharge will probably do you some good,” he reasons. “It’ll be quick.”

“I said no, Brad.” Ray gets up to open one of the overhead cabinets, pulling out a box of crackers.

“You don’t even have time to take forty-five minutes to go have dinner with me?” Brad asks, scowling.

“No. I don’t.” Ray closes the cabinet door with more force than is strictly necessary. “I _told_ you this wasn’t a good weekend for me, Brad.”

“When is, anymore?” Brad asks. His hands are still on top of his computer, and he’s doing his best not to look tense and angry, but failing. “If I hadn’t decided to come anyway when was the next time I’d see you? July? You’re always working, or you’re at class, or you’ve got this big project, or you’re studying with _Jake_.”

Ray shoots him a look. “ _Stop it_ ,” he snaps. “How many goddamn times do I have to fucking tell you that there isn’t anything going on?” He throws his hands up, exasperated. “I can’t keep having this fucking conversation, Brad. It’s exhausting and I don’t fucking have time for it.”

“So you’re saying you don’t have time for me anymore.” It isn’t really a question.

“That’s not what I said. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Ray gives a frustrated sigh and there are a few long minutes where neither of them says anything at all until Ray says, quietly, “I can’t keep doing this.”

Brad clenches his teeth. “Define ‘this.’”

“Fighting with you about the same shit over and over and over again. Reassuring you that nothing’s going on, nothing’s changed. I just can’t do it. I’m tired, Brad.” Ray swallows hard and shakes his head. “This isn’t working.”

“Because I’m the only one putting in any effort. You haven’t once come out to see me in Chicago. You’re not even _trying_!”

Ray stares at Brad for what seems like hours before he says very quietly, “I can’t believe you just said that to me.” He shakes his head again and huffs out a humorless laugh. “You asshole.”

“Ray--”

“No, Brad. Get out.”

“ _Ray_ \--”

“ _No_. Get your shit and get the fuck out.”

Brad swallows and when Ray doesn’t blink, he nods once. There’s not much to grab. He’d only thrown enough clothes for a couple of days into his duffel along with his toiletry bag. He comes back to the kitchen to collect his computer.

Ray won’t even look at him.

Brad stops in the doorway on his way out of the apartment, but Ray keeps his back to Brad, won’t look up. Brad closes the door gently behind him but he stops on the landing. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go besides a hotel.

The lock on the door turns behind him, and Brad feels his stomach plummet to his feet. He slowly lowers his duffel to the floor and sinks down against the wall, his elbows on his knees.

It’s at least an hour later that Brad hears footsteps in the hallway.

Nate smiles at Brad and waves with the hand holding the mail. “If Ray’s not home, you could’ve just picked the lock, you know,” he says. He opens his mouth to say something else but then registers the duffel bag on the floor next to Brad, realizes that something is very wrong. “What happened?”

Brad picks at the laces on his sneakers. “I’m pretty sure my ass just got dumped.”

##

The phone is still ringing.

Brad sighs and closes his eyes and listens to it ring. He’s learned that the voicemail picks up between the seventh and eighth ring, so by the sixth one, he’s sliding his thumb over to the end button.

He stopped leaving voice mails after the first week.

In three minutes, the clock will strike midnight, and the second week will come to an end.

Brad sighs again, rolls over, and tries to go to sleep.

##

It’s the first day of the third week. After two solid weeks of trying relentlessly, obsessively, Brad doesn’t pick up his phone to dial Ray.

##

It’s snowing.

The snowflakes are the big, wet, heavy kind. They stick to the windows and it makes Brad think of all of those Thomas Kinkade puzzles his mom liked to put together when he was little. Sometimes he would help her and sometimes he would just sit with her while she worked on them.

Even though it’s almost noon, it’s still dark enough in his studio apartment that it could pass for early morning. He’s decided to spend the snow day curled up under every blanket he owns, sleeping off and on, only getting up when the need to piss or eat becomes too urgent to ignore.

Brad is starting to doze again when his phone rings. His hand searches blindly for it on the mattress. When he manages to come up with it, he mutters a grumpy, “Hello?”

There’s a brief pause before Ray’s voice sounds in his ear, a soft, “Hi,” that makes Brad’s heartbeat spike in his chest.

Brad doesn’t know what to say so he stays quiet. If he waits long enough, Ray will start talking. Ray doesn’t disappoint him.

“You didn’t call.”

“What?”

“You didn’t call,” Ray says again. “I was waiting for you to call yesterday, but you didn’t.” Brad frowns at that. He gets this huge urge to hang up, but he doesn’t. He _can’t_. Not when Ray is actually talking to him.

“I’m sorry. I figured two weeks of being completely ignored were enough torture. It took me a while, but I get it, okay? You don’t give a shit.”

“That’s not true,” Ray tells him. “Brad, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Brad scoffs.

“I am. I shouldn’t have done that to you. I should have answered or called you back. _Something_.” Ray sighs. “Brad, I was so pissed at you. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t.”

“What do you want me to say?” Brad asks.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just listen, okay?” Ray takes a deep breath and seems to hold it for a minute before he lets it out. “It was harder than I thought it would be. I missed you so much it made me sick.”

Brad makes a noise. “You’ve got an interesting way of showing it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Brad. You’re just listening, remember?” Brad’s mouth twitches and then Ray starts talking again. “I threw myself into work, and school, and going out because I kept telling myself that if I was insanely busy, if I hardly had time to _breathe_ , then I wouldn’t have time to miss you so much.”

There’s a long pause before Brad asks, “How’d that work for you?”

Ray huffs a humorless laugh. “Stressed me out and made me fucking tired.” He sighs quietly. “It didn’t make me miss you less.”

“That’s a fucking shocker.”

“Brad, don’t be an asshole.”

Brad opens his mouth to reply and then promptly shuts it again. Picking a fight isn’t going to get them anywhere. He opts for an “Okay,” instead.

“Not one day has gone by where I haven’t wished I could take it back. It was fucking stupid. I know that now. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to make this work, Brad.” Ray sighs. “But I am serious about what I said.”

“Which part?” Brad asks.

“It’s exhausting to have to reassure you all the time. I know you’ve been screwed over, Brad. I know trusting me to not do the same is hard for you, but you _have_ to,” Ray says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, you just pushed me away instead.”

“It was a mistake, Brad, and I’m fucking sorry. I’m not perfect.”

Brad closes his eyes. “You just hate being alone.” The accusation doesn’t have much behind it.

“That’s not it at all. I want _you_ ,” Ray tells him. “You and your stupid jokes, and your stupid dirty laundry everywhere, and your stupidly gorgeous face. I miss you, Brad. I _love_ you. And in a way, you were right. I should have made more of an effort to come see you. Making you do all of the legwork wasn’t fair. So, please, can we wipe the slate clean and try this again?”

Brad’s throat feels tight but he manages to get the words out. “Only if you promise to throw away that hideous fucking sweater I hate.” He hears Ray laugh – really laugh - and warmth explodes in his chest. It spreads through him quickly, relaxing tense muscles.

“Okay, but that’s not going to happen right this minute, man,” Ray replies. “It’s keeping me warm.”

Brad closes his eyes and smiles. He can picture the way Ray likes to curl up in the corner of the couch with a blanket and a steaming cup of coffee. “Ah. Is it snowing in Boston?” he asks.

“I don’t know, but it’s snowing like a motherfucker in Chicago.”

Brad’s eyes snap open. “It’s _what_?”

“Christ, Brad. What did you think the white shit outside your window was?” Ray laughs at him. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with the properties of snow, but it happens to be really fucking cold. Will you let me in before my balls freeze off completely?”

Brad’s phone gets lost somewhere amongst the blankets as he tries to scramble out of bed. He slaps the button on the wall-mounted panel to buzz Ray into the building. Brad fumbles to open the locks and pull the door open, stepping out into the hallway. He hears Ray’s footsteps well before he sees him.

When Ray turns the corner, the smile he gives Brad is small and hesitant.

“There’s two feet of snow outside, you dumb fucking hick,” Brad says fondly, watching Ray’s approach.

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Ray brushes snow off the shoulders of his heavy coat, his boots leaving damp footprints on the carpet in his wake. He slings his bag to the floor when he comes to a stop in front of Brad. His skin is red and wind-chapped, and Ray has to tip his head back to look up at Brad.

“You could have told me you were standing outside. I’d have at least let you into the building.” Brad shakes his head and reaches out to snag the front of Ray’s jacket, tugging him in close. His hands push inside it, underneath Ray’s ugly sweater and then the t-shirt under that to slide across his ribs. He bends down to kiss Ray’s jaw and he inhales deeply.

Ray’s skin is freezing to the touch, but Brad has a few ideas for getting it warm again.

 

 _and i feel all the faint morning light  
filled with hope ‘cause you’re here in my life  
and we’ve gone from the edge of our souls  
made it back to a place we call home_


End file.
